This post may be a bit tactless, so if you are used to my normally eloquent musings about motherhood then stop reading here (wait…who’m I kidding, if you’re a mom this is your world, you understand.)
Last night, just before midnight, on the one day out of the year that Mom’s are supposed to get a break, I hear the sound of a bucket of water being splashed on the carpet. Who would be dumping water on the carpet in the middle of the night? No one. As I tried to make sense of what was going on I wandered out into the hall to find one of the kids standing in the bathroom. Two… yes two separate puddles of throw-up were spewn on the CARPET (Was that the new carpet you had installed less than a year ago? Why yes, yes it was, thank you for asking.)
You would think with six kids this is a regular occurrence, that I have some sort of puke plan in place, but in general I would say this is one of those evils our family usually dodges. It’s pretty rare, so it was very , very timely that it would happen at the tail end of a rather nice Mother’s Day I had just enjoyed.
So I started to clean up the mess, kneeling down without thinking, feeling the wet goo soak into the knees of my jammy-pants (oh yeah, I checked to see if the kid was OK trying to hide my displeasure, kid was fine, not the flu, probably ate too much because mom wasn’t keeping a tabs on what they ate because it was supposed to be her day off!) With my stellar middle-of-the-night brain functioning I couldn’t figure out how to clean up the mess without mashing the wet bread chunks into the carpet even more, so I woke my husband up and ranted a bit. As I am incoherently saying something about carpet cleaner and baking soda I freeze. I listen. I hear a doorknob turning. Oh no! One of the other kids is up! They are going to walk down the hall to the bathroom…through the… Stop! I leap down the hall, and save the squinty eyed child from traipsing through the slush pile to spread the “joy” throughout the hallway. She has to go to the bathroom. Of course she does. The bathroom with the moat of puke around it.
I take her to the bathroom, send her back to bed. Spend a half-hour cleaning up the mess not very graciously might I add mumbling to myself as I go. Set up a barf-bucket in said child’s room, changed my jammies, rinsed off in the tub and stuck my head outside to clean out the nostrils a bit before trying to go back to bed.
I know it’s a fact of life. It is part of mothering. But it should be banned from occurring on Mother’s Day! Send the memo out next year. Please!